Shattered heart
by KayDrew
Summary: Based on another tumblr meme - how would my muse react to a characters death. So, this is Neal's reaction. Please, R&R. Don't hate me! Will have more fics soon. Warning, character death.
1. News

It was the call no husband wanted to get at an hour no calls should come. Four in the morning and his cell had gone off. Set on vibrate, the incessant amount of rings had sent the phone to the floor. Groggy, he picked up the mobile and held it to his ear; the sheet sliding away from his bare torso. "Hello?" Neal rasped.

"Neal, get to the hospital. It's Emma," came the reply. Mary Margaret let out a sob in-between each word that shuddered from her lips. "Hurry."

His heart stopped as a sinking feeling erupted in his stomach. Neal let out a shaky breath as he tried to compose himself. He might not have been awake before, but he was sure awake now! "I'll be right there," the man told her as he hung up his cell. Throwing the blankets aside, Neal pulled jeans on over his boxers and then tugged on the sweater he wore the day before. Forgetting his shoes, Neal hurried from the bedroom and down the stairs.

"Neal? Is everything all right?" Belle called as she looked up from her reading. "You look like you've seen a ghost." She set Jane Eyre aside and getting up, went over to him.

"Emma...hospital. I gotta go," he stammered to his 'stepmom'. "Where are my keys?" He patted his pockets until Belle held them up; they had been sitting on the table by the door.

"Do you want me to drive you?" she asked. When Neal shook his head no she sighed, handed him the keys, and hugged the man with a tender touch. "Be careful. No wrecks, okay?"

"No wrecks," Neal promised. "Watch over my papa okay? He can't do anything with his leg in the cast.

Belle smiled and patted Neal on the arm. "Get some shoes on and go," she instructed. "Call me. Let me know."

"I will," he agreed. Bending down, he grabbed his boots and put them on. With boots barely laced, Neal hurried to his truck and hopped in.

"What happened?" Neal demanded when he got to the hospital five minutes later. His brow was furrowed. He was shaking. Neal was scared and he didn't like it.

Snow rubbed her arms as she looked around the hospital. "She was cooking dinner and just collapsed. One minute, Emma was fine, the next minute..." Mary Margaret choked out. "I don't want to lose my baby."

"I know," he whispered as he pulled Snow White close and hugged her. "I know. Me either..." Neal rested his head on Mary Margaret's shoulder and breathed in her scent. Tears wanted to fall, but he wouldn't let him.

His mother-in-law was he first to break contact. "It all happened so fast. And there was so much blood. I don't know why. But she was bleeding and cramping. I called 911," Snow explained as she sat down in a waiting room chair.

"I should have been there. She's been doing too much," Neal whispered. He took a seat beside Mary Margaret and hung his head out of shame. This should not be happening. Emma shouldn't be in the hospital now and she shouldn't have to be fighting for her life!

"Oh, Neal, it's not your fault," she cooed while robbing his back. "Gold needed you. So did Belle. There's only so much one person can do for a bedridden man in a cast. You did the right thing. Emma wanted you there. She knew how important it was."

Before Neal could answer, the doctor came out. She was a short, stocky woman with dark hair pulled into a frumpy ponytail. The scrubs she wore had blood flecks on it. "I take it you're the father?" she said.

"How is she?" Neal asked as he stood. "How is my daughter?" If possible, the man's eyebrows raised even higher all the while his mouth turned down in a pensive frown.

The doctor shook her head. "I'm sorry. Emma didn't make it," she told Mary Margaret and Neal. "There was too much blood loss. The baby is in the NICU, but she should be fine."

Snow screamed. It was a heart broken, blood curdling sound. Her head went back as she sobbed, "No. No. No! My baby," Mary Margaret wailed.

Neal wasn't crying. He was numb. He couldn't believe the news. His wife was dead. "May I see her? May I see Emma?" The man asked. When the doctor nodded and headed towards a set of double doors, he followed her.

In the room, Emma lay surrounded by soiled clothes and bags of used blood. Her sheet and gown were streaked red. The monitors hummed, but made no other sound. It was a surreal moment. This nightmare was one that Neal did not want to face.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," the doctor told Neal, but he didn't answer her.

Tentatively, he went over to the bed. "I hate you! I hate you. Why did you leave me, Emma? Why? I can't do this alone. I need you. We're a team. We gotta watch our backs like always," Neal screamed. "I need you and I love you and I hate you. Come back to me. Please, come back. I don't think I can do it. What about Henry? What about...what about Lucy? They need their mother. I need my wife. Come back Emma. Come back."

Of course, she wasn't going to come back. Neal knew it too. Defeated and heartbroken, he collapsed over her body and held the still form in his arms. With eyes closed tight, he rocked Emma all the while breathing in her smell; Neal didn't want to forget it. He didn't want to forget anything.

The widow only let go of Emma's body when he heard the doctor clear her throat. "Come. They need to take care of her body," she said. "Besides, I have someone for you to meet."

Just then, a baby cried. Neal, who hadn't torn his gaze from Emma's frame, looked up. In the doctor's arms was his daughter with a feeding tube in her nose. It was his daughter. "She's beautiful," the father said.

"Yes. And strong," agreed the woman. "I need to get her back to her incubator. She needed changed, so I thought..."

"You thought right," Neal replied, knowing what she was implying. He bent down and kissed Emma on the lips and then he caressed her cold cheek. "I love you."


	2. Going Home

Neal found himself in the hallway staring at the white linoleum flooring that covered much of the surface area of the hospital. How he got there, the widowed father had no idea. Logically, Neal walked out of the room, but at this moment, in his grief-stricken head there was no logic.

"Hey," Mary Margaret whispered. She rested a hand on his arm. When Neal jerked back a little, the mother smiled sadly at him. "It's just me. Did you…did you see her?" Her breath hitched and so she grew quiet.

He glanced at Mary Margaret's tear-stained face and nodded. "Yeah, I did," was all he said. "I saw Lucy, too. She's so small and so pretty like her mama." Neal rubbed his face as tears burned the corners of his eyes. "Can we go?"

It was Mary Margaret's turn to nod. When Neal didn't move, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and guided the grieving man to the car. Snow even opened the car door for him and attempted to put his seatbelt on.

"I can do it," Neal whispered. He brushed her hand away and snapped his belt on while Mary Margaret put her seat belt on and started the car. While the drove back to the loft, the bereft father leaned against the headrest and looked out the window.

The early morning was clear. The moon shone down on Storybrooke and there were stars out. This didn't feel like a night of death. It should be one where he and Emma lay out, looking for constellations.

"Where's Henry and David?" Neal asked after they'd driven a block. Neither his son nor his father-in-law had been there. David and Emma had been extra close; Neal would have thought the father would have been there.

At the stoplight, Mary Margaret glanced over at Neal. Snow White opened her mouth, but closed it. Then, she tried again. "Henry was asleep. We didn't want to wake him up. David offered to stay. He'd just gotten off work and was tired. Didn't think he should…" Mary Margaret's voice trailed off. She gripped the steering wheel tightly.

So, Henry didn't know. Telling his son that Emma was dead - Neal wasn't looking forward to it. "I'll tell Henry in the morning. He should get one more night of sleep," Neal whispered, drumming his fingers on his knees. "You said she was cooking. Why? Why at 3...4 in the morning?"

"What?" Snow asked in a dazed voice. She sounded confused and distracted. "Oh,um,well she hadn't felt great all day. Emma slept a lot of it. She was hungry. So she was making something for her and David."

That made sense. Of course. Pregnancy was a hard thing to go through. "I should've been here. I should've made the food. If I...if I had," Neal stammered.

"Now you listen to me, Neal Jack Cassidy, your father needed you. Belle needed your help. She could not have taken care of him by herself. Emma wanted you there," Mary Margaret scolded. She pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. "It's not your fault."

Neal shrugged. He didn't feel like arguing. He didn't feel like saying anything. Getting out of the car, he trudged to the building and up to the loft. The door opened without Neal yanking the doorknob.

David was on the other side of the entrance. He was white as a sheet and shaking. His eyes were wide and the front of his shirt was stained red. It appeared David had been cleaning up Emma's blood.

Neal did not have to say anything. Charming seemed to know and Neal found himself in a tight embrace. Neal clung to David as a few tears slipped out. Thank heavens David was holding him up. From the grief and exhaustion, his knees buckled and his just gave out. With eyes rolling back in his head, Neal fell into unconsciousness.


	3. Revelations

Neal roused several hours later. Blinking and feeling quite disoriented, he looked about. Neal found himself lounging in a slight incline as he lay atop a patchwork quilt. Bright light streamed through the curtained windows and illuminated the whitewashed space. His father sat at his beside, gently stroking Neal's brow with a gnarled hand.

"Oh, Bae, how are you m'boy?" he asked. Gold dropped his hand away from Neal's brow and then he leaned against the back of the wicker chair. He rested his hands on his knees as he stared at his son.

For a moment, Neal didn't say anything. He laid there looking at the whitewashed ceiling; studying the cracks and crevices that flawed the wood. Brain feeling fogged, he momentarily forgot where he was or what had happened the night before. As sleep left him, it all came back to him and it felt like his heart broke all over again. Sitting up, Neal put his head between his knees to slop himself from hyperventilating.

"How did you get here?" Neal asked instead of answering the question. He wasn't really sure how he was feeling so answering the question wasn't possible right now. "You need to be resting."

"Don't worry," Rumplestiltskin hushed. "I didn't drive. Belle brought me. She's gone to get your car and pick up Henry. So, Bae how are you, lad?"

Neal still ignored the question. Instead, he got off the bed and made it. His eyes lingered on the clock - 3:15. It meant Henry would be home soon and then he would have to tell his son Emma was gone. That wasn't something he looked forward to. "Do you want someone to eat?" the grieving father asked. Granted, Neal _was _hungry, but he wanted to cook something just to have something to do.

"Baelfire," Gold cautioned. The father seemed to be able to see what Neal was doing and he didn't like it all. There was little Rumple could do about it, except to give a warning and a caution to his child. Avoiding feelings was a futile thing.

"I know, papa. I know. Now, do you want something to eat or not?" Neal replied. The words came out a bit shorter and firmer than he meant it to come out, but he did not apologize for his outburst. "I'm making grilled cheese." Henry and him always had a grilled cheese after Henry got off school. It had become their tradition. Neal was not going to break it - not now or ever.

In the kitchen, he got the butter, bread, and pre-sliced cheddar cheese out. Greasing a skillet, he laid three slices of bread into the butter. Hands that shook slightly put the milk-food on the first slice of bread. Those same hands put lids on them and turned the stove onto medium-low.

"That sounds lovely," Gold whispered as he watched his son work in the kitchen. "So...ah...how is the wee little one?"

Neal let go of the butter knife when asked about the newborn. It clattered against the metal sink. Staring at his father, he fought off tears. That question solidified the situation; it made it all too painfully real. Sucking in air, he exhaled through his nose.

"She's..she's tiny. And they had to put a feeding tube in her. But, the doctor's say she's strong," Neal stammered. "She's perfect and beautiful. She looks like Emma."

Gold had tears in his eyes and trickling down his face. However, he looked proud at being a grandfather for a second time. "I can't wait to see her, son. What's her name?" Rumplestiltskin asked.

"Lucy. Her name's Lucy," Neal whispered as he flipped the grilled cheese. "It's what Emma wanted..."

The door opened and Henry came barging in. The twelve-year-old plopped the bag down. "What's wrong? Something's wrong! Tell me. Dad?" Henry demanded. He stood in the middle of the room waiting and watching in defiance.

Neal turned the heat off. Sliding it on a cold burner, he went over to his son. "Henry," Neal began. He placed a hand on his shoulder. "Your mom had the baby..."

"Can we go see her? Please?" Henry begged. A large smile spread over his face as he stared up at his dad with wide eyes. "What's her name? What's she look like? I bet she looks like mom!"

Under Neal's hand Henry bounced on the tips of his feet. Those wide eyes broke the father's heart. Telling his boy the news was about the cruelest thing Neal ever had to do. "Her name's Lucy and yeah she does, kiddo," he began. His voice wavered.

"Dad... what's the matter? What's wrong? Is Lucy okay? What about mom?" Henry asked. He took a step back from his father.

"Mom didn't make it. She died," Neal breathed. "And...Lucy's in the NICU, but she's gonna be okay."

Henry's eyes widen as he shakes his head. Terror clouds his eyes. "She can't be..." Henry protested. "She's the Savior!" The step Henry took back, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his father.

Neal wrapped his own arms around Henry. He buried his face into his hair and breathed in. "I'm not gonna leave you. I promise," Neal vowed.


	4. Hello Lucy

Neal could honestly say he did not remember a moment of the funeral. That was just fine with him; he didn't want to remember this sad day. It was too painful and it made it all too real. If he was being honest, Neal would have voiced his discontent. All he wanted was it to be over so he could spend time with his little girl.

Little Lucy needed him. She needed him strong and comforting - the protector. He was the only parent she had now.

Besides, he was already in a state of mourning. Why should he go to a certain place and grieve for a few hours? Neal was going to be grieving the rest of his life. What was a funeral for anyway? It seemed to be for the family and friends - at least it didn't feel like it was designed to help him cope or mourn. Charming, Neal did notice, looked as uncomfortable about the funeral as Neal felt. It was wrong. They shouldn't be burying Emma, but they were and there was nothing anyone could do about it. She was dead.

He didn't like being reminded that his Emma was gone for good. As soon as it was socially acceptable, Neal left the pitch-in that Granny arranged. He guessed this would be called a wake as there were memorial flowers along with the copious amounts of food, although Neal couldn't be certain nor did he care to ask what this was called.

Out of the church, Neal headed to the car (Henry was going home with Regina for a little while). He sat there for several long minutes and just stared at the steering wheel. With a weary sigh he starts the car and heads to the hospital. Touching Lucy's soft cheek or even just seeing her tiny self would be a great comfort on this grim, grim day.

After a quick, five minute drive, Neal was at the hospital. He parked and went straight to the NCIU. Whenever he passed a nurse, aid, or visitor Neal got a sympathetic smile or nod, but the grieving father chose to ignore the looks. All he wanted was to see his daughter, Lucy, and see how she was doing.

"Mr. Cassidy, my condolences," the nurse greeted as Neal came to the desk. "How may I help you?"

At the comment, the father gave a slight nod to let her know he appreciated the words. "Can I see her? Lucy?" he asked. Resting his hands on the desk, he leaned against it as he waited for an answer. Even though the reply came a mere five seconds later, the time dragged into an hour (or so it seemed).

"She's doing well! She's stronger and more alert," the nurse promised. She got up from behind the desk and gestured to Neal to follow her down the hallway. "Come along. I bet you'd like to see her."

A faint smile crossed Neal's haggard face. "Yeah, I would," he whispered with a nod of the head. The man followed the nurse into the NCIU. Even though seeing his daughter hooked up to monitors and in a box, Neal couldn't help but smile. Lucy in this state scared him, but seeing her alive and fighting gave him strength.

"She's beautiful," Neal whispered as he looked into the incubator. The newborn's head was turned towards him. Her big, hazel eyes were wide and filled with curiosity as she blinked. Love and pride swelled his heart. What a special, wonderful creature this child was and she was his (and his alone). It was Neal's job to protect her and care for her. He would - no matter what. While he knew some would balk at that responsibility, Neal relished in it; he wouldn't have it any other way.

He got as close to the incubator as he could. Sticking his hand inside one of the openings, Neal stroked the newborn's foot. "Hello, my beautiful girl," he cooed. "You look like your mum...a tiny version of her, you precious thing."

"You are going to be a great father. You're a natural with her," the nurse complimented while she checked the machines and straightened the supplies lying on close by tables.

The words brought emotions to his eyes. Tears lined his lashed and trickled down his cheeks. "Thank you. I...I hope so," he slurred. The words seemed to be forced from his lips as if he were choking on both his emotions and what he uttered.

She looked at the clock, then at the incubator, and then back at Neal. "I need to clean Lucy's incubator and change her bedding, do you want to hold her?" the nurse offered.

"Really? I...I can hold her?" the father stammered. His jaw had dropped and instead of staring at the little girl behind the Plexiglas, he stared at Sam (the nurse he was talking to).

"I think it'll be all right," she replied. "Just be gentle and support her head." The nurse fiddled with the latches and carefully brought the little girl out of her incubator. with caution not to pull out any tubes or wires, Sam settled Lucy in the crook of Neal's arm.

"Hello, my beautiful. I'm your daddy and I love you very much," whispered Neal as he leaned forward and kissed her brow. Pulling away, the man stared down at the tiny child. His first real smile since Emma's death creased the corners of his mouth. Things were gonna be okay.


End file.
